Shared
by WitheringWeasel
Summary: Bathrooms aren't the only thing our heroines share! A story of salacious and convenient powers of seduction and... well, really, that's the meat of the story, right there...
1. Chapter 1

Note: Well, if I were a better writer, this would be a much longer story with proper exposition and it would have been Beta'd, and it would have actually had a coherent plot, and fuck man, the lead up to the sexytimes might have been believable. It might have even logically fit somewhere in canon timeline. But you're not here for logic. You're here for Popular.

Somewhere in the timeline that doesn't belong to me, what with other people owning the rights to the show and characters and all. Standard disclaimers, those all apply, though.

Shutting up now.

"A shared bathroom is the most daunting test of a relationship. You're fated to always be mortal enemies." Mary Cherry quickly stated, eyes trained intently on her own reflection as its fingers applies a delicate swish swash and touch up of her pigmented mask. Without missing a beat, her focus darted over to her bathroom compatriot, lids narrowing to increase her dramatic intensity tenfold. "Or else... mortal lovers."

"Please, Mary Cherry. I love a good dyke joke as much as the next cynical hormone-ridden teenager in this dank gene pool of a school, but the thought of our Brookie here turning gay for that tasteless Spam makes my cafeteria food filled stomach turn. And it's not like that lunch needs any more help coming up." Nicole didn't even glance up from her much more interesting duty of nail filing.

"Well you never know, Nikki. Those hormone ridden minds under the pressure of haggling over hair dryer usage each day get some pret-ty dark ideas."

"Mary Cherry, while it's unfortunate that Brookie has to share a powder room with... that, I don't think the mental and emotional stress would twist her to want to lez out over it." Nicole glanced in her permanent glare up at Mary Cherry, frustration at the speculations clearly apparent. Having thrown her poison tipped eye darts and made her point, she settled back into her manicure with a confident waggle of her head. "Besides, why would she go for chopped liver when she has steak right here?"

Brooke just sighed. She finished the ritual (needless, but ritual) touch up of her make up, and walked out the door, sweetly sarcastic smile lingering with her friends cheerfully.

"Don't worry Nicole, I'd never have lesbian fantasies about anyone but you. Catch ya later."

"... You think Brookie'd ever go gay? There's not a soul in the world could wear a mullet well, but I bet she'd wear flannel better than any other lesbian in the tri-state area." Mary Cherry sized up her non present friend with a skeptical glance at Nicole.

"Mary Cherry. Seriously? I'd take it better if those two ended next week with double homicide."

* * *

The disinterested, factual manner with which Mary Cherry presented ridiculous superstitious happenings gave Brooke goosebumps. What a creep. The thing that clinched Miss Cherry's title, though, was the unbridled accuracy of her backwards postulations. Not that Brooke had designs in either direction, _ certainly not _ but for anyone to have her fate pronounced so dramatically was... unsettling.

At least that was how Brooke tried to excuse her current flustered state.  
'This is ridiculous,' Brooke mentally scolded herself.

'There's no reason to get worked up over anything. It's just everything that's been happening this week, and I really don't need to think about Sam any more than...' Thinking about Sam. Funny things had happened in the last few months. Funnier things had happened in her life, and this wasn't really funny at all. It was just... sexy.

She had denied it for a week or so, panicked for a week or so, and quickly settled into a rountine of ignoring and reveling in her newfound fantasies. It was after a few Biology classes she had realized she couldn't hide herself from it, a few classes in which the only thing she had learned was that Sam's tongue was _ very _ dexterous (the way it circled her lips and pressed the inside of her cheeks was quite the tell), when Sam chewed on a pen, she moved it clockwise three times, and then counterclockwise three times, and that there was probably room for approximately five good sized hickeys (right in a row) in the delectable space between Sam's chin and collarbone.

She sighed and frowned a little bit, reprimanding herself, not for the thoughts, but how worked up that particular Novac conversation had gotten her. Had she not been so busy swearing and wondering if Mary cherry had some weird gypsy curse, she might have avoided

Brooke had decided, all those months ago, that she wouldn't touch Sam more than absolutely necessary. She wasn't a very tactile person to begin with, (body image problems did wonders for becoming a well adjusted person, as she always liked to joke to herself) but this situation called for all kinds of bottom lines. No hugging, no brushing, no rubbing, no soft caresses or kisses on the back of her neck, no trailing fingertips down toned, writhing stomachs, no nothing.

Granted, Running straight into and flattening the object of her affections was not nearly as thrilling or flirtatious a gesture as most of the ones she had specifically barred from her life, but it was a shock, nonetheless.

"Jesus, Brooke, is it mating season already?" Oh, how that smoky voice teased her ears. No time for that, though, or to think about mating in any sense of the word. Brooke reeled for a moment at the contact, but social skills were still in her repetoire, she was sure of it.

"Wha...? Sam, I know obscure references are cool in some circles, but what the hell did you just say?"

"Ah... It was... Deer. You know how deer and goats ram their heads together around mating season to prove who's the better mate?" Sam was uncharacteristically not-eloquent, dare Brooke say, compliant today. As they helped each other stand and gather the dropped supplies, Brooke couldn't help but notice some unsure, sullen glances snuck into Sam's usual fiery, defiant gaze.

"What's up with you today? I ran into you specifically to claim my alotted portion of witty verbal abuse."

"It... It's nothing..." As entirely and completely _ hot _ as Sam was when she was defiantly arguing every minutia, this vunerable Sam was at least, incredibly, dangerously adorable.

"Well... Ok... see you at the house. Pizza tonight, right?"

"Yep." An almost forced smile wiggled onto Sam's face, enthusiastic sarcasm blocking view of whatever unsurity had captured her mind instants ago. "Fresh to us from the finest pizza artists this side of Italy. Or Domino's. Whichever's cheaper."

Smiles held them together for a moment longer before they passed each other and headed off to their respective classes.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing like subconsciously throwing myself in the path of my incredibly gorgeous, absolutely perfect, and entirely frustrating almost-half-sister just because I'm so desperate to touch her. What's wrong with me?" As those words tumbled quietly out of soft pink lips, green eyes right above them clouded with tumultuous thoughts. Sam McPherson needed to do some thinking.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam, come on, I'm your best friend. Just tell me about it."

"Harrison, I told you, I can't. I don't even know what's wrong with me. It's just an off day. I'll be fine by tomorrow. I just need some sleep."

"Is this about what happened between you and Lilly? Because you know it's perfectly fine for teenagers to be-"

"Finish that sentence with the phrase "sexually conflicted" and I will cut you. Deep."

"Whoa. Sorry." Harrison raised his arms and shrugged defeat.

"And for the record, nothing happened between Lilly and I. We were talking about girl stuff. We were talking about sexual fluidity, not being sexually fluid. "

"Isn't that pretty much the same as "making out"?"

Sam sighed. For the incredibly understanding and caring guy that Harrison was, she sure wanted to slap him sometimes.

"Just kidding, Sam. Please don't hurt me."

"Whatever. Like I said, it's nothing. Talk to me tomorrow and if I'm still grumpy, I'll think of something to be grumpy about. Now leave me alone, I need to process. Y'know, like the lesbians do."

"Fine, fine, I can take a hint. See you tomorrow. And if you're wearing Birkenstocks, I'll know something's up for sure."

Sam smiled slightly, a bit more warmly as Harrison left. No way she could tell him. She had just admitted it to herself, not two nights ago. Jane and Mike and her had been watching TV, flipping through channels when by fate, Xena appeared, running and yelling across the screen in a blaze of glory and blood. Sam had watched the show when she was younger, and had even seen it pretty recently. But something about this specific instance lit a fuse in her mind. By the end of the ad spot, Sam was wide eyed and dead silent.

Lesbians.

Xena and Gabrielle were totally gay for each other. Sam was totally gay for Brooke.

Holy shit.

Sam had allowed herself two days of sulking. Two days until she would force herself to get to the bottom of this. And two days was here. She was a woman of action, dammit, and she couldn't afford to spend any more energy aimlessly lusting after Brooke. She sat, staring blankly at her wall. She glanced at her clock. One more hour before the princess would get home from Glamazon practice. One more hour before she had to face the flood of hormones telling her to jump her blonde rival turned secret crush. What was she going to do?

Turning back to the bare wall, she glared. Imagining her own self in the wall, she growled, "You know very well what you have to do. Nothing. She's Brooke McQueen, goddammit. You're only tasks related to her are excellently witty, emotionally jarring verbal spars and occasionally indulgent movie and pizza nights. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that clear? Yes, because now I'm talking to myself like a crazy person, and I think I should really just agree."

A silent five minutes passed.

"... But... if... Something were to happen, I'd have to take advantage of it, right?" She mumbled, in protest of her own ultimatums. In nothing more than a breath she muttered a truth she was terrified to know she lived by, "Because anyone would be crazy not to want Brooke McQueen."

* * *

Pizza came and went, desires came and lingered, and fantasies came and built a permanent home at the McQueen/McPherson household that night. Both parties huddled up on opposite sides of the couch, secretly wishing some force of the universe would throw them into the center, trumpets would sing, birds would fly, rainbows would bloom. Both sat with a perfectly inconspicuous face. They were even able to keep up conversation.

But the delicious tension of the living room was over too soon.

It was time for some delicious tension elsewhere in the house.

It was not the first night Brooke had walked in on Sam in the bath, (accidentally, she assures herself) but it was the first time she didn't immediately block her mind with yells of protest and embarrassment, turn foot and storm back out. By some stroke of fate or voodoo curse, she kind of lingered, struck by something. Not anything conscious, her awareness of the situation fluttered out the door as she had opened it. Their eyes met in an awkward, awkward visual embrace. Sam offered a tight smile, her eyebrows offering a disbelieving raise, "Can I help you?"

"Oh, uh, no. Just... getting my toothbrush..." Brooke's voice rose with the blood in her cheeks as her peripheral vision haphazardly followed the curve of the long, wet legs as they culminated in Sam's knees. Brooke made sure to train her eyes on Sam's face and nothing else (locker room courtesies well met) but that didn't keep the mind behind those eyes from filling in those legs' natural conclusion. "I'll come back later."

"Ok." Sam murmured slowly, grateful to be able to make sound to fill the strained silence after the click of the door and footfalls had subsided. She drew her knees closer to her chest, chuckling. After a moment's pause, she let her hand fall back to her knee where it idly began to trace circles. She smiled to herself and wondered briefly how much more euphoric those circles would make her if the fingernails making them were the exquisitely manicured fingertips of Brooke McQueen.

And then, it hit her.

And then, she smiled.

Brooke had been checking her out. Like, really checking her out . Come to think of it, for the past few months, Brooke had kind of been...

In the matter of a minute, the tub had been drained, a towel had been grabbed, and Sam had plans for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, don't get my carpet all wet!"

It was the only protest Brooke could come up with, what with the mostly naked Sam standing at her door. Brooke tried her hardest to lock eyes to eyes only, which would have been more difficult if Sam's eyes weren't a shade darker, a hue more intense than usual. For one who so often had a smoldering gaze, this was forest fire level and nothing less.

"I'm not wet or anything. I came because I can't find my shirt." Her words came out with the smallest smile, and just slightly huskily, the beginning of her assault on Brooke's resolve.

Brooke quickly replied, "WhywouldIhaveyourshirt?"

"Because I didn't do the laundry, and you're the only one in the house anywhere near my size..."

"Which one?"

Sam smiled a little bit, taking a delicate step into Brooke's territory, eyes still locked on Brooke's.

'Oh goddamn you, McPherson. You and your confidence and gorgeous, gorgeous body.'

"I think you're wearing it."

"Wha..." Sam was almost at the bed now, and Brooke was stunned. And a little scared. She was supposed to be the seductress, the one with the quiver-inducing stare. What was going on?

Sam knelt down over Brooke, leaning in so her breath would catch the soft skin below the blonde's earlobe.

"Relax, Princess," Sam whispered, letting the sound waves break against the shell of Brooke's ear, "and kiss me."

Sam's fingers brushed and slid their way into the blonde's hair, becoming entangled as she softly massaged to relieve some of the fear and shock in Brooke's eyes. She almost felt bad, seeing Brooke look so vulnerable but in an instant the fire, the pure seduction that was Brooke McQueen's eyes was swirling and running through Sam's mind, darkening her own in absolute lust. Breaths that had been caught by the backs of their tongues for who knows how long rushed out and met, wetting and warming each others' lips. It took Sam's deft fingers only a fraction of an inch to tilt Brooke's chin up a fraction of an inch, and capture Brooke's lips in light nibbles and soft sucking.

It took Brooke's fingers only a fraction of a second to make their way to Sam's bare shoulders and grasp lightly, revel in the quivering muscles and slight moan it elicited. The unexpected contact as Sam traced the shivers down Brooke's spine to the edge of her shirt to drag across the blonde's lower back . Brooke buckled, disconnecting their kiss for the slightest of moments, trying to gain some invisible upper hand, but quickly surrendered again to the begging, dominating texture and taste of Sam. Sam's hand made it's way slowly, luxuriously up Brooke's back, and Brooke pressed herself up and into Sam, hands now raking pleading marks of lust across the shivering shoulders.

Shivering. Sam was cold. Of course. She was already naked and wet. Also really horny. But mostly, she was cold. Brooke felt negligent, opting to rectify her wrong by pushing Sam down to the pillows, straddling her at the divide between towel and skin, one hand skirting around between them to break their deepening kiss.

Brooke may have been a bit overwhelmed at first, but her new resolve was to test the knowledge she had gained sitting in class - just how wonderful was Sam's tongue (glorious so far), and just how sensitive was Sam's neck (the shivers from Brooke's fingers seemed to indicate 'very', but Brooke was sure her lips could up that adjective).

Brooke pulled the blanket up to Sam's shoulders, the fabric a deafening friction against Brooke's back, second only to the artful circles being played by Sam's palms. Brooke suddenly became painfully aware of just how much more fabric than Sam was touching her. She stripped off her shirt and bra, then arched herself down into Sam.

Brooke made a gentle mapping of kisses from that glorious tongue to that gorgeous collarbone, a journey starting in small, pleading whimpers and small, teasing nips that ending in loud, driving moans, and deep, biting kisses. Sam writhed underneath Brooke, increasing contact, hoping to reverse the current dominance. Sam's hands pushed their way down to grasp Brooke's soft hips, which she pulled up on as she slid her legs up, disrupting Brooke's exploratory trek in a desperate, surprised groan and a rush of uninhibited heat.

Finally Sam was on top, teasing, refusing to let their lips meet in any satisfying way, leaving the gentlest bites, running her tongue lightly along particularly sensitive routes from Brooke's open mouth to the elastic of her pyjama pants, cherishing the soft skin stretched across Brooke's hips, the whimpers as her hands grazed the insides of Brooke's thighs.

"Saaammmm..."

Hearing her name moaned out like that consumed Sam; she slid down Brooke's legs, fingernails pulling fabric, leaving lines of fire ricocheting through Brooke. She fiercely kissed the sensitive skin of Brooke's upper thigh, her hands catching up to keep Brooke euphoric while she detached and moved her mouth up, her finely trained tongue lifting the lines of underwear to remove them.

She quickly kissed her way up Brooke's body, lingering at the base of her ribs, the swell of her breasts, but clearly moving towards one goal. Sam slid into Brooke, intoxicating, melting her just as she reached and captured her lips. They kept rubbing and grinding until their moans subsided and were replaced by heaving, needy gasps.  
Long, lovely kisses followed, until they found their way into a comfortable sleeping position, Sam holding Brooke from behind, nuzzling, lulled into comfort by the familiar scent of Brooke's shampoo.

And there they slept, sighing warmth onto each others' necks, fingertips whispering promises into each others' skin.


	4. Chapter 4

"FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT GODDAMN FUCK."

Apparently, there was something jarring to Brooke McQueen about waking up mostly naked and entwined with her half-sister-whom-she'd-been-lusting-after. Or at least it seemed that way to the half-sister-whom-she'd-been-lusting-after when Brooke jumped off of the bed with that flurry of excitement and terror.

"Mmmmmm... Screaming Brooke: The best alarm clock a girl could ask for..."

"Don't be so cheery, SamohgodohgodohgodwhatdidIdo?"

"Brooke..."

"MikeandJanewillfindoutandthey'regonnaohmygodIdon'tevenknowwhat, andthentheschoolOH GOD NICOLE CAN NEVER-"

"BROOKE!"

At Brooke's stunned silence, Sam sat up, pulling the covers and sending

"Brooke, I know your emotional roller coaster has probably hit the big hill and it's kind of cute and all, but I really think it's time for you to get off. Especially if you're going to put your hands up and scream about it this early in the morning. Calm down, come over here, and we'll figure something out."

Sam couldn't resist as Brooke blushed and retreated to the bed, so she grabbed the girl's waist and pulled her down into her lap, wrapping the fluffy comforter around the nervous girl's mostly nude figure.

"So."

"So."

"What do we do now?"

"Sam, you were the one who said 'let's figure this out'!"

"Well, I said '**let's**', not **me**..."

Brooke smiled and laughed out, "You know what, I think I just got this morning off on the wrong foot. Let's go back to sleep, and wake up in an hour, and I'll say, 'Good morning, Beautiful!' and you'll sigh and kiss me senseless. Sound like a deal?"

"Only if I can have my sink back."

"I hate you."

"Love you, too."

(The end)  
(You know what I really shouldn't have done? Made that, "Don't get my carpet wet!" joke. Jesus Tap Dancing Christ that was amazing.)


End file.
